Though Mr. Goodman very easily perceived the wife of Marplus had not made the discovery she had done through any principle of conscience, or true contrition for having been an accomplice in the base action she had revealed, but merely in revenge of a husband, who had used her ill, and was about to leave her, yet he thought it behoved him to draw all advantages he could from the knowledge of so astonishing, and so alarming a secret.
He therefore wasted no time, either in unavailing reflections on his own inconsiderateness, in marrying, at his years, a woman such as Lady Mellasin, nor in exclamations on her ingratitude and perfidiousness; but, convinced beyond a doubt of the wrongs he had sustained, bent his whole mind on doing himself justice, in as ample a manner as possible, on the aggressors.
The lawyer, to whom he had applied the day before, was not only a person who had transacted all the business he had in his way, but was also his acquaintance of a long standing, and very good friend; and it was no inconsiderable consolation, under so grievous a misfortune, that he was not at a loss whom he should consult on an affair that required the greatest integrity, as well as ability.
That gentleman, luckily for Mr. Goodman's impatience, came to enquire how he did after his last night's shock, just as he was preparing to wait on him, in order to acquaint him with the more stabbing one he had since received. This injured husband rejoiced, as much as the present unhappy circumstances of his mind would permit, at the sight of his friend; and related to him, in as brief amanner as he could, the sum of the whole story he had received from Mrs. Marplus.
'Good God!' said the lawyer, as soon as Mr. Goodman had given over speaking, 'I am confounded: but, pray, Sir, how have you resolved to do? In what way will you proceed?'—'That I must ask of you,' replied Mr. Goodman, hastily; 'you may be certain I shall not be passive in this matter. I only want to know what course I am to steer?'—'Could you consent,' cried the lawyer, after a pause, 'to be divorced from Lady Mellasin?'—'Consent!' said Mr. Goodman, with more warmth than before; 'the most terrible vexation I endure dwells in the consideration that she is still my wife! Were that name once erased, I think I should be easy.'—'I hope then soon to see you so,' said the other; 'but the first thing we have to do is to get the affidavits of the two witnesses, and then arrest Marplus. I shall order it so with his lawyer, whom I have under my thumb, on account of some malpractices I have detected him in, that he shall not dare to procure bail for this unworthy client. In a word, Sir,' continued he, 'I do not doubt, the case being so plain, but to relieve you from paying the penalty of the bond; but, in the mean time, what will you do with Lady Mellasin? It is necessary she should be removed out of the house.'—'The house is hell to me while she is in it!' said Mr. Goodman. They had some farther talk on this affair; and the manner in which Mr. Goodman was to conduct himself being settled, a footman was sent to bid Mrs. Prinks come down.
The confidant of all her lady's guilty secrets could not, now detected, behold the face of Mr. Goodman without the extremest terror and confusion: he perceived it, as she stood trembling scarce half within the door, not daring to approach. 'Come near,' said he; 'you are a servant, and below the effects of my resentment, which otherwise you might have cause to dread: I have a message to send by you to your lady; take care you deliver it in the words I give it.' On which she ventured to advance a few steps farther into the room, and he went on, with a more authoritative voice than she had ever heard him assume before, in this manner.
'Tell her,' said he, 'that for many reasons I find it wholly improper she should remain any longer under the same roof with me; desire her therefore to provide a lodging immediately for herself, and all belonging to her: you must all depart this very night, so it behoves her to be speedy in her preparations.'—'To-night, Sir!' cried Mrs.Prinks. 'I have said it,' rejoined he, fiercely: 'be gone! it is not your business to reply, but to obey.' She spoke no more, but retired with much greater haste than she had entered.
Mr. Goodman and his lawyer were pursuing their discourse on the present melancholy occasion, when the butler came in to lay the cloth for dinner. As soon as he had finished, and set all the necessary utensils on the table, Mr. Goodman ordered him to go to Miss Betsy's chamber, and desire her to come down to dinner.
That young lady had passed the morning in a very disagreeable manner: the want of repose the night before had made her lie in bed till the day was very far advanced. When she got up, good-manners, good-breeding, and even common civility, obliged her to enquire after Lady Mellasin's health; and being told that she was still in bed, the same motives induced her to pay her compliments in person. On entering the chamber, a mournful scene presented itself to her eyes: Lady Mellasin sat up, supported by her pillows, with all the tokens of despair and grief in every feature of her face; Miss Flora had thrown herself on a carpet by the bedside, her head leaning on the ruelle, and her eyes half drowned in tears; Mrs. Prinks stood at a little distance from them, pale and motionless as a statue. The approach of Miss Betsy made some alteration in their postures, and seemed to awaken them from that lethargy of silent woe: Lady Mellasin began to exclaim on the hardness of her fate, and the cruelty of Mr. Goodman; who, she said, seemed glad of a pretence to throw off that affection which she had flattered herself would have been as lasting as life; and bewailed herself in terms so tender and pathetick, that in spite of the little respect that Miss Betsy in reality had for her, and the just indignation she had for some time conceived against Miss Flora, her gentle, generous heart, was touched with the strongest emotions of pity and forgiveness.
As she was far from suspecting all the grounds Lady Mellasin had for this immoderate grief, and in her soul believing that Mr. Goodman would soon be brought to forgive both the affront and the damage his fortune had suffered on her account, she begged her ladyship would not indulge the dictates of despair, but reflect on the natural sweetness of Mr. Goodman's disposition; the great love he had for her; and, above all, his strict adherence to those principles of religion, which forbid a lasting resentment; and, in short, reminded her of every thing she could think of for her consolation.
None of them having yet breakfasted, she staid and drank coffeewith them; nor would her compassionate temper have permitted her to quit them so soon as she did, if she had not been called away to a milliner, who was come with some things she had the day before ordered to be brought; and she had just dispatched this little affair, and got out of her dishabille, when she had received the above-mentioned message from Mr. Goodman.
On her coming into the parlour, where dinner was that moment serving up, 'I must request the favour of you, Miss Betsy,' said Mr. Goodman, 'to do the honours of my table today.'—'I shall do the best I can, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy modestly; 'but am very sorry for the occasion which obliges me to take upon me an office I am so little accustomed to.'—'You will be the better able to discharge it when it becomes your duty!' said Mr. Goodman, with a faint smile; 'but I believe this is the only time I shall put you to it. I have a kinswoman, who I expect will be so good as to take care of the affairs of my family henceforward.'—'O Sir!' replied Miss Betsy, with a great deal of concern, 'I hope Lady Mellasin has not for ever forfeited her place!'
Mr. Goodman was about to make some reply, when they heard the voice of that lady whom Miss Betsy had just mentioned extremely loud upon the stairs. 'I will not be used in this manner,' cried she; 'if I must go, let him tell me so himself.' On this, Mr. Goodman grew extremely red: 'Go,' said he to the footman that waited at table, 'and tell Lady Mellasin that I will not be disturbed.'—'Hold,' cried the lawyer; 'permit me, Sir, to moderate this matter.' In speaking these words, he rose hastily; and, without staying to hear what Mr. Goodman would say, ran to prevent Lady Mellasin from coming in. While he was gone, 'Yes, Miss Betsy,' said Mr. Goodman, 'you will lose your companion; Miss Flora, with her mother, leaves my house to-night.'
Miss Betsy, who had gone out of Lady Mellasin's chamber before Mrs. Prinks brought her this piece of intelligence from Mr. Goodman, was prodigiously surprized to hear him speak in this manner. 'It is a sudden turn, indeed,' pursued he; 'but the reasons which urge me to this separation will hereafter appear such as I neither could nor ought to have resisted.' Miss Betsy only replying, that he was certainly the best judge of what he did, no farther discourse happened on the subject, nor, indeed, on any other, for some moments.
At last, however, Mr. Goodman taking notice that she looked more than ordinarily serious, 'Perhaps,' said he, 'you may think my housetoo melancholy for you when they are gone. The relation I intend to bring home, though a perfect good woman, is pretty far advanced in years; and, I believe, receives but few visits, especially from the younger sort; but as the house I have hired for Mr. Thoughtless will be ready in a day or two, I should imagine he would be glad to have you with him till you marry: but this,' continued he, 'is at your own option; I do but mention it, because I would have you entirely easy in this point, and consider what it is will most contribute to make you so.'
Miss Betsy had only time to thank him for his goodness before the lawyer came down: that gentleman had found a more difficult talk than he had expected, in bringing Lady Mellasin to submit to the injunctions she had received from her husband; not that she had the least spark of conjugal affection for him, as the reader may very well suppose, or would have wished ever to see him more, if she could have lived without him in the same manner she did with him; but the thoughts of leaving her large and richly-appointed house—her fine side-board of plate—her coach—her equipage, and all those other ensigns of opulence and state she now enjoyed, were insupportable to her, and, having in vain essayed what a feigned penitence and tenderness could do, to work him to forgiveness, had now resolved to try the effect of a more haughty and imperious deportment. 'I will make him know I am his wife!' cried she; 'and whatever he is possessed of, I am an equal sharer in: let him not therefore think that, wherever he is master, I shall cease to be mistress.'
The lawyer then remonstrated to her, that though it were true, as she said, that she had a right to partake of his fortune, yet it was still in the power of a husband to oblige her to receive the benefit of that right in what manner, and in what place, he should think proper: he told her, Mr. Goodman was determined that she should quit his house, and that all applications made by her to the contrary would be fruitless, and exasperate him the more, and only serve to widen the unhappy breach between them. 'If Mr. Goodman,' said he, 'has no other complaint against your ladyship, than simply his paying the penalty of the bond, and, it may be, some other trifling debts, I cannot think he will, for any length of time, persevere in his present inflexibility of temper.' These arguments, and some others he made use of, enforced with all the rhetorick and art he was master of, at last convinced her, that it was best for her to yield, with a seeming willingness, to the fate it was not in her power to avoid; and shepromised him to send Prinks directly to hire an apartment for her, at a house near Golden Square, with the mistress of which she had some small acquaintance.
The whole time this gentleman had been with Lady Mellasin, the meat was kept on the table, but he would not stay to eat. 'We have not a minute to lose,' said he to Mr. Goodman; 'let us go, Sir, and dispatch what we have to do.' With these words, they both went hastily out of the doors, leaving Miss Betsy in a good deal of consternation at what they were about.
Lady Mellasin, who little expected that her husband was made so well acquainted, or even that he had the least thought of the worst part of her behaviour towards him, was ready enough to flatter herself, both from her experience of his uncommon tenderness for her, and from what his lawyer had insinuated, in order to prevail upon her to go away with the less noise, that when this gust of passion was blown over, he would be reconciled, and consent to her return.
These imaginations made her carry it with a high hand before the servants; and as they were packing up her things, while Mrs. Prinks was gone to prepare a lodging for her—'Your master will be glad to fetch me home again,' cried she; 'poor man! he has been strangely wrong-headed of late. I suppose he will be ready to hang himself when he considers what he has done; for he may be sure I shall not very easily forgive the affront he has put upon me.'
How truly amiable is an unblemished character, and how contemptible is the reverse! Servants naturally love and respect virtue in those they live with, and seldom or ever either flatter or conceal the vices they do not greatly profit by. The airs Lady Mellasin gave herself on this occasion, were so far from making them believe her innocent, or their master blameable, that, as soon as they had gone out of her sight, they only turned her pride, and the fall it was going to sustain, into ridicule and grimace.
Miss Betsy, however, could not see them depart in this manner, without feeling a very deep concern: their misfortunes obliterated allthe resentment she had at any time conceived against them; and she had never before been more angry, even with Miss Flora, for the treachery she had been guilty of to her, than she was now grieved at the sight of her humiliation.
She was sitting alone, and full of very serious reflections on this sudden change in the family, when her brother Thoughtless came in: she was glad of the opportunity of sounding his inclinations as to her living with him, and now resolved to do it effectually: she began with telling him the whole story of Lady Mellasin's and Miss Flora's removal; and then complained how dully she should pass the time with only Mr. Goodman, and an old gentlewoman who was to come to be his housekeeper. 'I thought you were about marrying,' said he; 'and expected, from what Mr. Goodman wrote to me, that my first compliment to you, on my arrival, would have been to have wished you joy.—You are not broke off with the gentleman, are you?'
The careless air with which he spoke these words, stung Miss Betsy to the quick; she took no notice, however, how much she was piqued at them, but replied, that the whole affair was mere suggestion; that it was true, indeed, she had for some time received the addresses of a gentleman recommended by her brother Frank; that he, and some other of her friends, were very much for the match, and she supposed had spoke of it as a thing concluded on, because they wished it to be so: but, for her own part, she never had as yet entertained one serious thought about the matter; and, at present, was far from having any disposition to become a wife; 'So that,' continued she, 'if I am doomed to stay in Mr. Goodman's house, till I am relieved that way, it is very probable I may be moped to death, and married to my grave.'
'Where is the necessity for that?' said he. 'Are there not places enough in town, where you may find good company to board or lodge with?'—'Doubtless there are many such, Sir,' replied she, with some spirit; 'and if I am so unhappy as not to have any friend so kind to make me an invitation, shall be obliged to seek an asylum amongst strangers.'
Mr. Thoughtless looked a little confounded at these words: he had seen, from the beginning of her discourse, the aim to which it tended; and, as he had his own reasons for not complying with her desire, would not seem to understand her; but she now spoke too plain, and he was somewhat at a loss what answer to make, so as notto give her any cause of accusing his want of affection, and at the same time put her off from expecting he would agree to what she would have him, in this point; when, fortunately for his relief, a letter, just brought by the post, was presented to Miss Betsy. 'From L——e!' said she, as soon as she took it into her hand. 'From brother Frank, then, I suppose?' cried he. 'No,' answered she, 'from Lady Trusty; you will excuse me, brother, while I look over the contents.' She broke it open while she was speaking, and read to herself as follows.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.My dear Miss Betsy,Sir Ralph received yesterday a letter from Mr. Thoughtless, dated Calais, the third instant; so I doubt not but by this time I may congratulate you on his safe arrival in London: but I am sorry to acquaint you, that while you were embracing one brother, you were in very great danger of losing another; but do not be too much alarmed, I hope the worst is past. I believe he gave you an account himself, that, by an unlucky fall from his horse, he was prevented from going to London so soon as he had designed; but the mischief done him by this accident was much greater than he imagined at the time of his writing to you. What he took only for a common bruise, proved to be a contusion; and, for want of proper care at first, through the outrageousness of the pain, soon brought on a fever: for two whole days we were in the utmost apprehensions for his life; but now, thanks to the Author of all mercies, we are assured by the physician that attends him, and who is esteemed the most skilful this county affords, that he is in a fair way of doing well. His delirium has quite left him; and he has recovered the use of his reason so far as to entreat I would send the warmest wishes of his heart to you, and to desire you will make the same acceptable to his dear brother, if you are yet so happy as to see him: he also enjoins you to pay his compliments to Mr. Trueworth, in such words as are befitting the friendship you know he has for him. I have much to say to you from myself, on the score of that gentleman, and should be glad to add to the advice I have already given you, but am deprived of that satisfaction by the arrival of some company, who are come to pass a week or fortnight with us; therefore must defer what I have to say till another opportunity. Farewel! may Heaven keep you under it's protection, and your guardian-angel never fail his charge! Be assured,that though I do not write so long, nor so often to you, as I could wish, I am always, with the greatest sincerity, my dear Miss Betsy, your very affectionate friend, and humble servant,M. Trusty.P.S. I wrote the above this morning, because one of our men was to have gone pretty early to town; but Sir Ralph having some letters of his own, which were not then ready, detained him; and I have now the pleasure to tell you, that the doctor, who is this moment come from your brother's chamber, assures me that he has found him wonderfully mended since his visit to him last night. Once more, my dear, adieu.'
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
My dear Miss Betsy,
Sir Ralph received yesterday a letter from Mr. Thoughtless, dated Calais, the third instant; so I doubt not but by this time I may congratulate you on his safe arrival in London: but I am sorry to acquaint you, that while you were embracing one brother, you were in very great danger of losing another; but do not be too much alarmed, I hope the worst is past. I believe he gave you an account himself, that, by an unlucky fall from his horse, he was prevented from going to London so soon as he had designed; but the mischief done him by this accident was much greater than he imagined at the time of his writing to you. What he took only for a common bruise, proved to be a contusion; and, for want of proper care at first, through the outrageousness of the pain, soon brought on a fever: for two whole days we were in the utmost apprehensions for his life; but now, thanks to the Author of all mercies, we are assured by the physician that attends him, and who is esteemed the most skilful this county affords, that he is in a fair way of doing well. His delirium has quite left him; and he has recovered the use of his reason so far as to entreat I would send the warmest wishes of his heart to you, and to desire you will make the same acceptable to his dear brother, if you are yet so happy as to see him: he also enjoins you to pay his compliments to Mr. Trueworth, in such words as are befitting the friendship you know he has for him. I have much to say to you from myself, on the score of that gentleman, and should be glad to add to the advice I have already given you, but am deprived of that satisfaction by the arrival of some company, who are come to pass a week or fortnight with us; therefore must defer what I have to say till another opportunity. Farewel! may Heaven keep you under it's protection, and your guardian-angel never fail his charge! Be assured,that though I do not write so long, nor so often to you, as I could wish, I am always, with the greatest sincerity, my dear Miss Betsy, your very affectionate friend, and humble servant,
M. Trusty.
P.S. I wrote the above this morning, because one of our men was to have gone pretty early to town; but Sir Ralph having some letters of his own, which were not then ready, detained him; and I have now the pleasure to tell you, that the doctor, who is this moment come from your brother's chamber, assures me that he has found him wonderfully mended since his visit to him last night. Once more, my dear, adieu.'
Mr. Thoughtless, perceiving some tears in the eyes of Miss Betsy while she was reading, cried out, 'What is the matter, sister? I hope no ill news from the country!'—'Be pleased to read that, Sir,' said she, giving him the letter, 'and see if I had not cause to be affected with some part of it.'
'Poor Frank!' said he, as soon as he had done reading, 'I am sorry for the accident that has happened to him; but more glad it is like to be attended with no worse consequences. Do not be melancholy, my dear sister; you find he is in a fair way of recovery, and I hope we shall soon have him with us. I long very much to see him,' continued he; 'and the more so, as I have spoke in his behalf to a general officer whom I contracted an intimacy with at Paris, and who has promised me all the service he can in procuring him a commission.'
They had some farther talk on family affairs; after which he told her he was troubled to leave her alone, but was obliged to return to some company he had made an elopement from when he came there. At parting, he saluted her with a great deal of affection—desired she would be chearful—and said, he dare believe she had too much merit ever to have any real cause to be otherwise.
This tenderness very much exhilarated her drooping spirits: she entertained fresh hopes of being in the house with a brother, who, she found, designed to live in the most elegant and polite manner, which was what she had at present the most at heart of any thing in the world. She now began to fancy he did not propose it to her, either because he did not think she would approve of it, or because he feared, that to testify any desire of removing her might offend Mr. Goodman, as she had boarded with him ever since she came to town; she, therefore, resolved to desire the favour of that gentleman tomention it to him, as of his own accord, and let her know what answer he should make. This idea gave her some pleasure for a while; but it was as soon dissipated: the thoughts of her brother Frank's misfortune, and the danger she could not be sure he was yet perfectly recovered from, came again into her mind; but this also vanished, on remembering the hopes Lady Trusty had given her: yet still she was discontented, though she knew not well at what. In fine, she was so little accustomed to reflect much on any thing, much less to be alone, that it became extremely irksome to her. 'What a wilderness is this house!' cried she to herself. 'What a frightful solitude! One would think all the world knew Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora were gone, that nobody comes near the door. How still! how quiet, is every thing!' Then would she start up from her chair, measure how many paces were in the room—look at one picture, then on another—then on her own resemblance in the great glass. But all this would not do; she wanted somebody to talk to—something new to amuse her with. 'I wonder,' said she, 'what is become of Trueworth!—I have not seen him these three days. Indeed, I used him a little ill at our last conversation: but what of that? If he loves me as well as he professes, he will not, sure, pretend to be affronted at any thing I do. My brother desires me to give his compliments; but if the man will not come to receive them, it is none of my fault. Yet, after all,' continued she, having paused a little, 'what privilege has our sex to insult and tyrannize over the men? It is certainly both ungenerous and ungrateful to use them the worse, for using us, perhaps, better than we deserve. Mr. Trueworth is a man of sense; and, if I were in his place, I would not take such treatment from any woman in the world. I could not much blame him if he never saw me more. Well—when next he comes, I will, however, behave to him with more respect.'
Thus did the dictates of a truly reasonable woman, and the idle humour of a vain coquette, prevail by turns over her fluctuating mind. Her adventure at Miss Forward's came fresh into her head: she was in some moments angry with Mr. Trueworth for offering his advice; in others, more angry with herself, for not having taken it. She remained in this perplexity till a servant, finding it grew late, and that his master did not sup at home, came in, and asked her if she would not please to have the cloth laid; to which she answered, with all her heart: on which, the table being immediately spread, she eat of something that was there, and soon after went to bed; where, it isprobable, she lost in sleep both all the pleasure and the pain of her past meditations.
Mr. Goodman was all this while, as well as for several succeeding days also, busily employed on an affair no less disagreeable to him than it was new to him; but, by the diligence and adroitness of his lawyer, he got the affidavits, the warrant, and everything necessary for the intended prosecution of Marplus and Lady Mellasin, ready much sooner than many others would have done, or he himself had expected.
The fatigue and perplexity he was under, was, indeed, very great, as may be easily supposed; yet did it not render him neglectful of Miss Betsy. She had desired him to speak to her brother on her account, and he did so the first opportunity; not as if the thing had been mentioned by her, but as if he, in the present situation of his family, thought her removal expedient.
Mr. Thoughtless, from what his sister had said, expecting he should one time or other be spoke more plainly to upon that subject, had prepared himself with an answer. He told Mr. Goodman, that nothing could have been more satisfactory to him than to have his sister with him, if her being so were any ways proper. Said he, 'As I am a single man, I shall have a crowd of gay young fellows continually coming to my house; and I cannot answer that all of them would be able to behave with that strict decorum, which I should wish to see always observed towards a person so near to me. Her presence, perhaps, might be some check upon them, and theirs no less disagreeable to her. In fine, Mr. Goodman,' continued he, 'it is a thing wholly inconsistent with that freedom I propose to live in, and would not have her think on it.'
It was not that this gentleman wanted natural affection for his sister, that he refused what he was sensible she so much desired; but he was at present so circumstanced, that, to have complied, would, under a shew of kindness, have done her a real injury. He had brought with him a young and very beautiful mistress from Paris, of whom he was fond, and jealous to that extravagant degree, that he could scarce suffer her a moment from his sight: he had promised her the sole command of his house and servants, and that she should appear as his wife in all respects except the name. How could he, therefore, bring home a sister, who had a right to, and doubtless would have claimed, all those privileges another was already in possession of! And how would it have agreed with the character of avirtuous young lady, to have lived in the same house with a woman kept by her brother as his mistress!
But this was a secret Miss Betsy was as yet wholly unacquainted with; and when Mr. Goodman repeated to her what had passed between them on her score, and the excuse her brother had made for not complying with the proposal, she thought it so weak, and withal so unkind, that she could not forbear bursting into tears. The good-natured old gentleman could not see her thus afflicted without being extremely concerned, and saying many kind things to pacify her. 'Do not weep,' said he; 'I will make it my business, nay my study, to procure some place where you may be boarded to your satisfaction.'—'I beg, Sir, that you will not mistake my meaning. I do assure you, Sir, I am not wanting in sensibility of your goodness to all our family, and to me in particular. I must, indeed, be strangely stupid not to think myself happy under the protection of a gentleman of so humane and benign a disposition. No, Sir, be persuaded there is no house in London, except that of an own brother, I would prefer to yours. I will, therefore, with your permission, continue here; nor entertain the least thought of removing, unless some accident, yet unforeseen, obliges me to it.'
Mr. Goodman then told her, that he should be glad she would always do what was most for her own ease. This was all the discourse they had upon this head; and when Miss Betsy began to consider seriously on the behaviour of Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, she found there was little reason for her to regret the loss of their society; nor that she ought to think Mr. Goodman's house less agreeable for their being out of it. She received all such as she approved of, who had come to visit them, and by doing so, were acquainted with her; and as to those who still visited herself in particular, it was the same as ever. Mr. Goodman's kinswoman, now his housekeeper, was a well-bred, accomplished woman, and a chearful, agreeable companion. She seemed studious to oblige her: all the servants were ready to do every thing she desired; and it would have been difficult for her to have found any place where she could have been better accommodated, or have had more cause to be contented; and she would doubtless have thought herself more happy than she had ever been since her coming to Mr. Goodman's, if other things, of a different nature, had not given her some unquiet moments.
But, besides the unkindness of one brother, on whom she had built the most pleasing hopes, and the indisposition of another, for whomshe had a very great affection, the late behaviour of Mr. Trueworth gave her much matter of mortification. She had not seen him for upwards of a week: she imputed this absence to the rebuff she had given him at his last visit; and, though she could not avoid confessing in her heart that she had treated him neither as a gentleman nor a friend, yet her vanity having suggested, that he was capable of resenting any thing she did, received a prodigious shock by the disappointment it now sustained.
It was the fate of Miss Betsy to attract a great number of admirers; but never to keep alive, for any length of time, the flame she had inspired them with. Whether this was owing to the inconstancy of the addressers, or the ill-conduct of the person addressed, cannot absolutely be determined; but it is highly probable that both these motives might sometimes concur to the losing her so many conquests. Mr. Trueworth had been the most assiduous, and also the most persevering, of all that had ever yet wore her chains. His love had compelled his judgment to pay an implicit obedience to her will; he had submitted to humour all the little extravagances of her temper, and affected to appear easy at what his reason could not but disapprove. He had flattered himself, that all that was blame-worthy in her would wear off by degrees, and that every error would be her last, till a long succession of repeated inadvertences made him first begin to fear, and then to be convinced, that however innocent she might be in fact, her manner of behaviour would ill suit with the character he wished should always be maintained by the woman he had made choice of for a wife.
His meeting her at Miss Forward's—her obstinately persisting in going to the play with that abandoned creature, after the remonstrances he had made her on that score—her returning home so late, and in disorder, conducted by a stranger—in fine, what he saw himself, and had been told, concerning the proceedings of that night, gave the finishing stroke to all his hopes, that she would ever, at least, while youth and beauty lasted, be brought to a just sensibility of themanner in which she ought to act.
If the letter, contrived and sent by the mischievous Miss Flora, had reached his hand but two days sooner, it would have had no other effect upon him than to make him spurn the invective scroll beneath his feet, and wish to serve the author in the same manner: but poor Miss Betsy had, by her own mismanagement, prepared his heart to receive any impressions to her prejudice; yet was the scandal it contained of so gross a kind, that he could not presently give into the belief of it: 'Good God!' he cried, 'it is impossible! If she has so little sense of honour or reputation, as the lightness of her behaviour makes some people too ready to imagine, her very pride is sufficient to secure her virtue: she would not, could not, condescend to the embraces of a man who thought so meanly of her as to attempt the gaining her on any other score than that of marriage! And yet,' pursued he, after a pause, 'who knows but that very pride, which seems to be her defence, may have contributed to her fall? She has vanity enough to imagine she may act with impunity what she would condemn in others. She might fancy, as the poet says—
"That faultless form could act no crime,But Heav'n, on looking on it, must forgive."
"That faultless form could act no crime,But Heav'n, on looking on it, must forgive."
'Why then,' continued he, 'should the foolish remains of the tenderness I once had for her, make me still hesitate to believe her guilty? No, no! the account before me has too much the face of truth; it is too circumstantial to be the work of mere invention. No one would forge a lie, and at the same time present the means of detecting it to be so. Here is the village specified, the nurse's name, and a particular direction how I may convince myself of the shameful truth. There is no room to doubt!'
To strengthen the opinion he now had of her guilt, the words Miss Flora had said to him, returned to his remembrance—that there was a time when Miss Betsy had trusted her with her dearest secrets.—'Her dearest secrets!' cried he: 'what secrets can a virtuous young lady have, that shun the light, and require so much fidelity in the concealment of? No, no! it must be this Miss Flora meant by that emphatick expression. The other could not hide the consequence of her shameful passion from the family; Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora must know it, and perhaps many more; who, while they were witnesses of the respect I paid her, laughed at the folly of my fondcredulity.'
Thus at some times did he believe her no less guilty than the letter said; but, at others, sentiments of a different nature prevailed, and pleaded in her favour; her adventure with the gentleman-commoner at Oxford came into his head: 'If the too great gaiety of her temper,' said he, 'led her into danger, she then had courage and virtue to extricate herself out of it.' He also recollected several expressions she had casually let fall, testifying her disdain and abhorrence of every thing that had the least appearance of indecency: but then relapsing into his former doubts, 'Yet who,' cried he again, 'can account for accident? she might, in one unguarded moment, grant what, in another, she would blush to think of.'
How terrible is the situation of a lover who endeavours all he can to reconcile his reason to his passion, yet to which side soever he bends his thoughts, finds in them things so diametrically opposite and incompatible, that either the one or the other must be totally renounced! Willing, therefore, to take the party which would best become his honour and reputation, Mr. Trueworth resolved to banish from his mind all the ideas of those amiable qualities he had admired in Miss Betsy, and remember only those which gave him occasion for disgust.
But this was a task not so easy to be accomplished as he imagined; for though the irregularity of Miss Betsy's conduct was of itself sufficient to deter him from a marriage with her, yet he found he stood in need of all helps to enable him to drive that once so pleasing object entirely from his mind.
To be therefore more fully confirmed how utterly unworthy she was of his regard, than could be made by this anonymous accusation, he went in person down to Denham; where, following the directions given him in the letter, the cottage where Goody Bushman lived was presently pointed out to him by the first person he enquired of. 'So far, at least,' said he to himself, 'the letter-writer has told truth.' He then sent his servants with his horses to wait his return at a publick-house in the village, and walked towards the place he came in search of.
He found the honest countrywoman holding a child in her arms on one side of the fire, two rosy boys were sitting opposite to her, with each a great piece of bread and butter in his hand. At sight of a strange gentleman she got off her seat; and, dropping a low curtsey, cried, 'Do you please to want my husband, Sir?'—'No,' said Mr.Trueworth; 'my business is with you, if you are Mrs. Bushman.'—'Goody Bushman, an't please you, Sir,' replied she. And then, bidding the boys get farther from the chimney, reached him the handsomest joint-stool her cottage afforded, for him to sit down.
He told her that he had a kinswoman, who had some thoughts of putting a child to nurse in the country; that she had been recommended: 'But,' said he, 'can we have nothing to drink together? What sort of liquor does this part of the world afford?'—'Alack, Sir,' replied she, 'you fine gentlemen, mayhap, may like nothing but wine; and there is none to be had any nearer than Uxbridge.'—'Nor cyder!' cried he. 'I am afraid none good,' replied she; 'but there is pure good ale down the lane, if your honour could drink that.'—'It is all one to me,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'if you like it yourself.' Then turning to him who seemed the eldest of the two boys, 'I suppose, my lad,' continued he, 'you can procure a tankard of this same ale.'—'Yes, Sir,' cried his mother, hastily—'Go to Philpot's, and bid them send a can of their best ale; and, do you hear, desire my dame to draw it herself.'—Mr. Trueworth then gave the boy some money, and he went on his errand, prudently taking with him a large slice of bread that happened to lay upon the dresser.
'That is a fine child you have in your lap,' said Mr. Trueworth; 'is it your own?'—'No,' answered she, 'this is a young Londoner.'—'Some wealthy citizen's, I suppose,' rejoined he. 'No, by my truly, Sir!' said she; 'it has neither father nor mother, and belike must have gone to the parish, if a good sweet young lady had not taken pity of it, and given it to me to nurse; and, would you think it, Sir, is as kind to it, and pays as punctually for it, as if it were her own. My husband goes up to London every month to receive the money, and she never lets him come home without it, and gives him over and above sixpence or a shilling to drink upon the road: poor man, he loves a sup of good ale dearly, that's all his fault, though I cannot say he ever neglects his business; he is up early and down late, and does a power of work for a little money. Sir Roger Hill will employ nobody but him; and, good reason, because he makes him take whatever he pleases, and that is little enough, God knows; for he is a hard man: and if it were not for my nursing, we could not make both ends meet, as the saying is; but he is our landlord, and we dare not disoblige him.'
This innocent countrywoman would probably have run on with the whole detail of her family affairs, if Mr. Trueworth, desirous ofturning the tide of her communicative disposition into a channel more satisfactory to his curiosity, had not interrupted her.
'This is a very extraordinary charity you have been telling me of,' said he, 'especially in a young lady: she must certainly be somewhat of kin to the child.'—'None in the varsal world, Sir,' answered she, 'only her godmother.' The boy now bringing in the ale, Mr. Trueworth was obliged to taste it, and testify some sort of approbation, as the good woman had praised it so much; but he made her drink a hearty draught of it; after which, 'And pray,' resumed he, 'what is the name of the child?'—'O, Sir!' replied she, 'the lady has given it her own name, Betsy; she is called Miss Betsy Thoughtless herself, though she is a woman grown, and might have had a child or two of her own; but you know, Sir, they are all called Miss till they are married.'
Mr. Trueworth, in the present disturbance of his thoughts, making no reply, she went on: 'She is a sweet young lady, I can tell you, Sir,' said she; 'I never saw her but once, and that was when I went to fetch the child; she used me with so much familiarity, not a bit proud, charged me to take care of her little Betsy, and told me, if she lived, I should keep her till she was big enough to go to school, and told me she would have her learn to write and read, and work, and then she would put her apprentice to a mantua-maker, or a milliner, or some such pretty trade; and then, who knows, Sir,' continued she, holding up the child at arms-length, and dancing it, 'but some great gentleman or other may fall in love with my little Betsy, and I may live to see her ride in her coach? I warrant she will make much of her old nurse.'
'There are many strange things happen in the world, indeed!' said Mr. Trueworth, with a sigh. After which, thinking there was no farther discovery to be made, he rose up to go away; but seeing the change of the money he had sent by the boy for the beer, lay upon the table, he gave it to him, saying, 'Here, my good boy, take this, and divide it with your brother, to buy apples.' Then turning to the nurse, took his leave of her with this compliment, 'Well, Mrs. Bushman, I believe you are a very honest careful woman, and shall not fail to remember you whenever it comes in my way. In the mean time,' added he, putting a crown piece into her hands, 'take this, and make merry with your husband.' The poor woman was so transported, that she knew not how to thank him sufficiently; she made twenty curtsies, crying, 'Heavens bless you, Sir; you are a right noble gentleman, I amsure. Marry, such guests come not every day!' And with such like expressions of gratitude, followed him till he was quite out of hearing.
What now could this enquiring lover think? Where was the least room for any conjecture in favour of Miss Betsy's innocence, to gain entrance into his breast? He had seen the child, had heard by whom, and in what manner it was delivered: the charge given with it, and the promises made for its future protection; and whether the nurse was really so weak as to be imposed upon by this pretence of charity, or whether bribed to impose it upon others, the facts, as related in the letter, appeared to be so plain, from every circumstance, as to admit no possibility of a doubt.
A marriage with Miss Betsy was, therefore, now quite out of the question with him: the manner of entirely breaking off with her, was the only thing that puzzled him. Loth was he to reproach her with the cause, and equally loth to be deemed so inconstant as to quit her without a justifiable one. He remained in this dilemma for the space of two days, at the expiration of which, after much debating with himself, he wrote, and sent to her, by a servant, the following epistle.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.Madam,The very ill success I have met with, in the only business which brought me to this town, has determined me to quit it with all possible expedition, and not to think of a return, till I find myself in a disposition more capable of relishing its pleasures. You have given me, Madam, too many instances how little agreeable my presence has ever been, not to convince me, that I stand in no need of an apology for not waiting on you in person, and that this distant way of taking my leave will be less unwelcome to you than a visit, which perhaps would only have interrupted your more gay amusements, and broke in, for some moments, on that round of pleasures, with which you are perpetually encompassed. May you long enjoy all the felicities the manner you chuse to live in can bestow, while I retire to solitude, and, lost in contemplation on some late astonishing occurrences, cry out with the poet—"There is no wonder, or else all is wonder."'If I speak in riddles, a very small retrospect on some remarkable passages in your own conduct, will serve for the solution; but that might probably be imposing on yourself too great a task. I shalltherefore trouble you no farther than to assure you, that though I cease to see you, I shall never cease to be, with the most friendly wishes, Madam, your very humble servant,C. Trueworth.'
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Madam,
The very ill success I have met with, in the only business which brought me to this town, has determined me to quit it with all possible expedition, and not to think of a return, till I find myself in a disposition more capable of relishing its pleasures. You have given me, Madam, too many instances how little agreeable my presence has ever been, not to convince me, that I stand in no need of an apology for not waiting on you in person, and that this distant way of taking my leave will be less unwelcome to you than a visit, which perhaps would only have interrupted your more gay amusements, and broke in, for some moments, on that round of pleasures, with which you are perpetually encompassed. May you long enjoy all the felicities the manner you chuse to live in can bestow, while I retire to solitude, and, lost in contemplation on some late astonishing occurrences, cry out with the poet—
"There is no wonder, or else all is wonder."
"There is no wonder, or else all is wonder."
'If I speak in riddles, a very small retrospect on some remarkable passages in your own conduct, will serve for the solution; but that might probably be imposing on yourself too great a task. I shalltherefore trouble you no farther than to assure you, that though I cease to see you, I shall never cease to be, with the most friendly wishes, Madam, your very humble servant,
C. Trueworth.'
Mr. Trueworth having dispatched this letter, which he doubted not but would finish all his concerns with Miss Betsy, thought he had nothing more to do than to take leave of the friends he had in town, and retire to his seat in the country, and there endeavour to lose the remembrance of all that had been displeasing to him since he left it.
While Mr. Trueworth was employing himself in exploring the truth of Miss Betsy's imaginary crime, and hunting after secrets to render her more unworthy of his love, that young lady's head was no less taken up with him, though in a widely different manner; she wanted not a just sense of the merits, both of his person and passion; and though a plurality of lovers, the power of flattering the timid with vain hopes, and awing the proudest into submission, seemed to her a greater triumph than to be the wife of the most deserving man on earth, yet when she consulted her heart, she found, and avowed within herself, she could part with the triumph with less reluctance in favour of Mr. Trueworth than of any other she yet had seen.
His absence, therefore, and the strange neglect he testified in not sending to acquaint her with the cause, gave her as much inquietude as a person of her humour could be capable of feeling; but whether it proceeded in reality from the first shootings of a growing inclination, or from that vanity which made her dread the loss of so accomplished a lover, cannot be easily determined: but to which soever of these causes it was owing, I think we may be pretty certain, that had he visited her in the situation her mind then was, he would have had no reason to complain of his reception.
She never went abroad without flattering herself with the expectation of hearing, on her return home, that he had been there, or at least that some letter or message from him had been left for her; and every disappointment involved her in fresh perplexity. In short, ifshe had considered him with half that just regard, while he continued to think her worthy of his affections, as she was beginning to do when he was endeavouring to drive all favourable ideas of her from his mind, they might both have been as happy as at present they were the contrary.
She had been with Miss Mabel, and two other ladies of her acquaintance, to see that excellent comedy, called the Careless Husband: she was very much affected with some scenes in it; she imagined she saw herself in the character of Lady Betty Modish, and Mr. Trueworth in that of Lord Morelove; and came home full of the most serious reflections on the folly of indulging an idle vanity, at the expence of a man of honour and sincerity. She was no sooner within the doors, than the letter above-mentioned was put into her hands: as they told her it had been left for her in the beginning of the evening, by one of Mr. Trueworth's servants, and she knew, both by the superscription, and device on the seal, that it came from that gentleman, she ran hastily up stairs to her chamber, in order to examine the contents; but what flutterings seized her heart—what an universal agitation diffused itself through all her frame, on reading even the first lines of this cruel epistle! 'Good Heaven!' cried she, 'going out of town, not to return!' And then, proceeding a little farther; 'What,' added she, 'not see me before he goes! Sure the man is either mad, or I am in a dream.'
Surprize, and some mixture of a tender remorse, were the first emotions of her soul: but when she came to that part of the letter which seemed to reflect upon her conduct, and the way in which she chose to live, her native haughtiness re-assumed it's former power, and turned her all into disdain and rage. 'No retrospect,' said she, 'on my own behaviour, can ever justify the audacious reproaches he treats me with. If I have been to blame, it is not his province to upbraid me with it.'
As she was entirely ignorant of the base artifice that had been put in practice against her, and was conscious of no fault Mr. Trueworth had to accuse her of, but that of her going with Miss Forward to the play, after the warning he had given her of the danger, it must be confessed, she had a right to think the provocation too slight to draw from him such resentful expressions, much less to induce him to abandon her.
'Ungrateful man!' said she, bursting into tears of mingled grief and spite, 'to treat me thus, when I was just beginning to entertain thekindest thoughts of him! When I was ready to acknowledge the error I was guilty of, in not following his advice, and had resolved never to throw myself into such inconveniences again. 'Tis plain he never loved me, or he would not have taken so poor, so trifling, a pretence to break with me.'
Thus, for some moments, did she bewail, as it were, the ill-treatment she thought she had received from him. Then looking over the letter again, 'With what a magisterial air,' cried she, 'with what an affectation of superiority, does he conclude! "With the most friendly wishes, my humble servant!" Good lack! friendly! Let him carry his friendly wishes to those he may think will receive them as a favour!'
Upon revolving in her mind all the circumstances of her behaviour towards Mr. Trueworth, she could find nothing, except what passed at his last visit, that could give him any occasion of disgust, and even that she looked upon as a very insufficient plea for that high resentment he now expressed, much more for his resolving to throw off a passion he had a thousand and a thousand times vowed should be as lasting as his life.
The anonymous letter sent her by Miss Flora, some time since, now came fresh into her head; that passage in it which insinuated that Mr. Trueworth had no real design of marrying her, that he but trifled with her, and on the arrival of her brothers would find some pretence or other to break entirely with her, seemed now to tally exactly with his present manner of proceeding. 'The devil,' said she, 'may sometimes speak truth; Mr. Trueworth has but too well verified the words of that malicious girl; and what she herself then thought a falsehood is now confirmed by fact: yet, wherefore,' cried she, 'did he take all this pains; if he never loved me, never hoped any recompense for his dissimulation, what end could he propose by practicing it? What advantage, what pleasure, could it give him to affront the sister of his friend, and impose upon the credulity of a woman he had no design upon?' It would be endless to repeat the many contradictory surmizes which rose alternately in her distracted mind; so I shall only say, she sought, but the more she did so, the more she became incapable of fathoming, the bottom of this mysterious event.
The butler was laying the cloth in the parlour for supper when she came home; Mr. Goodman had waited for her some time, thinking she might be undressing, and now sent to desire she would come down: but she begged to be excused, said she could not eat, and then called for Nanny, who was the maid that usually attended her in herchamber, to come up and put her to bed.
This prating wench, who would always know the whole secrets of every body in the family, whether they thought fit to entrust her with them or not, used frequently to divert Miss Betsy with her idle stories: but it was not now in her power, that young lady had no attention for any thing but the object of her present meditations; which the other not happening to hit upon, was answered only with peevishness and ill-humour.
But as every little circumstance, if any was adapted to the passion we at that time are possessed of, touches upon the jarring string, and seems a missionary from fate, an accident, the most trifling that can be imagined, served to renew in Miss Betsy, the next morning, those anxieties which sleep had in some measure abated.
A ballad singer happening to be in the street, the first thing she heard, on her waking, was these words, sung in a sonorous voice, just under the window—